Drip, drip, drip. Drop.

Water drips lightly from the tub's silver tap.

Drip, drip, drip. Drop.

Her eyes are closed and she relaxes, feeling the cool porcelain against her neck. The water isn't hot, but nor is it too cold. It is just right and she loves it. A relaxed sigh escapes her lips.

She does not dwell on the fact that she doesn't remember how she came to be here- wherever 'here' is.

She only thinks of the rising steam caressing her face.

Drip, drip, drip. Drop.

The sound of the water, though before so miniscule, becomes annoying. Is it her imagination, or is it becoming louder?

She thinks, I need to shut the faucet off. I really should. But the tub is so very comfortable, she doesn't want to move at all.

Drip, drip, drip. Drop.

She lays, her eyes still shut, and she is still contemplating sitting up to shut off the faucet. Perhaps she could just lift her leg and use her foot?

No, she decides. Using my foot is just more work. I'll just sit up for a moment and shut off the water. Then I can lay back and relax again.

Drip, drip, drip. Drop.

She sits up and, her eyes still closed, and feels for the metal handle. After a minute or so of blind reaching her fingers close around the handle in question, and she shuts the faucet completely off.

Drip, drip, dri-

It stops.

She smiles a big, satisfied smile and opens her eyes to view her accomplishment.

It takes her a few seconds to notice that the tub isn't filled with water. Slowly, she cups her hand, dips it into the water, and brings the liquid closer to her to inspect it.

Immediately, and with a sudden realization, she drops the liquid from her hand, and grips she sides of the bath, desperate to get out now.

The tub is filled with ink. Black, heavy ink that stains her skin black and the tub black and everything it touches, the deepest, darkest and most empty black she can imagine, tainting it all forever.

And there is so much of it.

She feels sick, thinking of all of that ink, touching her, turning her skin a cruel, sickly shade of onyx.

From the faucet bursts even more ink, so black it shines purple. She scrambles to stand, to get out, run, and never look back. But she can't. She is glued, it seems, to the porcelain prison in which she sits, held down by invisible chains. At first she suspects someone has put a Body Bind curse on her, but she knows there is no one else in the room.

Is this a room? Where am I? She thinks.

For a moment she forgets her fear and turns her head to survey her surroundings. The first thing she notices is the lack of color. Everything is white. The blank floor and walls and the tub (for that is all that sits in the eggshell room) are all completely and only white. The only shading is the dark ink in the bath tub.

She returns her attention to the horror at hand.

The ink in the tub is rising now, spilling over the edge of the bath, causing it to overflow. And the ink covers the floor, and the floor turns black and she is so, so scared.

The black floor rises, feeding from the waterfall of black spilling from the tub. And everything in the room is turning black with ink and she is so, so scared. She struggles even more. It is in vein. The more she struggles to stand, kneel, move, something, the tighter the invisible chains around her become.

Suddenly she feels something wrap around her ankle and before she can even react, she is being pulled into the tub, which is now as deep as an ocean.

She can't breath. But somehow she can see. And yet, she sees nothing. Nothing except her own body, naked and tense with panic. As if anything could get any worse she notices what is dragging her down, and what was probably stopping her from moving.

Large, green snakes are wrapped around her arms, wrists, ankles, and waist. She opens her mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. Whether it is because she is silenced by fear or because she can not breath, she doesn't know or care.

Suddenly, as if a spell is broken, the snakes pause and stop completely. After several seconds the slowly uncoil their tails from her body and release her. She is free. Not caring why she was set free from the snakes' grasp, she immediately swims for the surface of the tub.

Finally after kicking and reaching for- what? Minutes? Hours? Days, even?- her head breaks the surface of the tub and the ink is all over her now, in her skin, in her eyes, her mouth, and hair. It seeps into every last pore on her body and she is sick, so sick. She takes the deepest breath she has ever taken.

And she screams. She screams the most vile and the most beautiful thing to leave her inky lips.

"Tom," She screams. "Tom!"

A thousand times, over and over again, she screams it.

"Tom!"

***

Around two A.M., in the smallest room of a crooked, seven-story-high country home near St. Ottery Catchpole, Ginny Weasley bolts straight up from her bed, panting and crying. She repeatedly attempts to calm down, but fails every time.

Her mother, Molly, burst into the room. Her hair is done up in slightly-askew curlers, and she is in the middle of pulling her wand from her bright pink bathrobe pocket, ready to fight off any evils that may dare to threaten her youngest child and only daughter. Seeing Ginny in her bed, weeping, she puts her wand back into her robe and hurries to embrace her, her arms ready to be Ginny's shield from all of her darkest fears.

***

Wow. I kid you not, I started this at two thirty in the morning on new years day simply because I couldn't sleep. Now it's one thirty a day later(only because I promised I wouldn't submit it under one thousand words), and I'm done! Yay!

Initially, this is a one shot. But I may expand. I sort of want to. But I now have…I think four unfinished stories on the table, and To Marry a Death Eater is my biggest priority right now. Honest, I haven't even thought about the others for almost three months, I am just so wrapped in that story. And I PROMISED myself I wouldn't do that. I said to myself, I said, "Gina- now, girl no matter WHAT pops into your big ole' head you NEED to finish that story before you post ANYTHING else." And, like I knew would happen, I posted the Tara fic then the other…and the other. And now I'm up to the proverbial here in chapters. Damn. Oh, well.

Happy Whatever You Celebrate!

READ.